random sexy poem

Pushed against the wall

Brick digging into shoulder blades

Pull my hair, light my fire

But be warned

I’m not the only one

Who is going to get Burned


Follow me down the path

Where roses bleed heat

And ivory skin is scarred by thorns

Moans and groans scent the air

The perfume of desire

Has never smelled so sweet


Now don’t turn me away

Or I’ll shackle those thoughts

Unburden that mouth

Until you achieve pliancy

Melting, morphing

Into this stunning nymph



Swing Forward, Swing Back

One moment I am angry

Red tinted vision and grunted monosyllables

Anti social and vivid words, harsh

Abrasive against the soft ache of exhaustion







Sleep begs at the corners of my mouth

As the desire to mingle among the cotton sheets

And lay my head on such plush pillows

Just to sleep and dream and forget about my troubles







The, as suddenly as it was there

The tiredness is gone, warmth and ease replacing anguish

Smiles, chuckles, giggles, and good cheer all around

Dizzy, I’m spinning from the recoil







I swing, momentum creating circles

Dizzying, drugged by hormones, emotions, stress, elation

I just want my swing to still

But I cannot, I cannot stop this swing






A Certain lullaby

Like a familiar tune, it comes in waves

peaceful, perfect, sleep inducing


The semi silent whir of oscillating blades

Starts that melody of my certain lullaby


Rustling of cotton sheets against the freshly cleaned skin

Permeates the whisper of the mechanical AC from down the hall


Turning pages, careless pillow fluffs, and kicks thudding against a downy comforter

bring a strange cadence that weighs heavily on my drooping eye lids


Finally that warm body curls closer to mine and that steady heart beat

Is what finally lulls me under in this certain sleepy lullaby.

She Is

She is the girl who does laundry late at night

And stays up even later so that he has folded pants, and clean socks


She is the girl who sleepily begs for another kiss, another hug

Before he leaves for work, before she succumbs to another hour of sleep


She is the girl who greets him with a smile and warmth at the door

Despite his grouchy post work demeanor and growling stomach


She is the girl who rages at those who do her wrong and who offend her

Yet he knows it’s rage for good things, not for bad


She is the girl who helps out those in need, especially when it’s an emergency

He’ll always find her taking someone to an emergency room or brushing their hair


She is the girl who talks, chatters away to fill the silence when she feels awkward

But she does it because she has no idea what else to do when she worries


She is the girl who has spark in her eyes and fire in her lips

Playing, teasing, tormenting, testing, giving, taking, completing, loving


Most of all she is the girl who loves as much, no, more than anyone he’s known.

She is the girl he loves, for every thing she is

Cuddling: a syllabic poem


Falls in

Slow, even

Sheets while you

Then I shower, clean

I accompany you

In sheets that are soft and warm

Once there, I squirm and you hold me.

In your arms, I feel safe and at peace

You wash away my worries with a kiss

While you press me closer to your heart

Beating, soothing, lulling, as my

Eyes close and I drift off to

the land of nod where dreams

are full of sunshine

and my heart is

full of love

and you


full of


Canvas and Paint

Blank.  White.  Stark.  Ugly.

That is how her canvas starts out.

Devoid of beauty, but full of creation

That which will destroy the bleached barren


First, to prime with peach

Slathering, coating, covering that

Ivory ichor that threatens to consume

with something warmer, with a pink tone.


Then to high light with yellow.

Dabbing and dotting to decimate the sudden

Shadows.  Where did they come from?  Along with the

angry red spots? Quick, cover them. There, gone


Now for a little powder, to dust, the make matte

All that flawless, fake canvas.  There is still kohl to be applied

and liner to be added, gloss to finish up the entire portrait

Of this lovely young woman


She won’t leave the house without her canvas painted

Primed, perfected, for she believes that without

all the paint and color and deception

She is plain.  Stark.  White.  ugly.

A certain kind of Dance

There she is, on the makeshift dance floor

The slight sheen of sweat turning that porcelain skin

Into neon green and electric blue among the swinging

Flashing, lights of the raucous place.  Music, that music.


It thumps, the bass hounding her senses, driving

That curvaceous body to rock to the steady rhythm while

Her hair, twisting and curling frames her face that doesn’t see,

Not a single person, although they all see her.


She is sex on high heels, legs long and hips calling

Practically begging for some strong man to take them

In his rough hands and to guide her to his own beat,

However, she is a nymph, there and gone, diaphanous.


Try as her suitors might, she dances alone, a singular

Siren out in a sea of people she cares not to know but whom

Desperately, achingly call out to that gorgeous creature

Despite her ignorant attitude as the song blisters on.


The music stops, changes, transforming and she blinks

Her big blue eyes as though coming out of a trance, laughter

Echoes in her own ears and a blush covers those cheeks as

She returns to her table, to her drink, to her man


He is all wolfish smiles in the deadening light and devil grins

As she sips at the pink concoction, his voice whispers into

Her ear, causing a tremble between her legs, a dampness

Between the thighs that had only just been entrancing on the floor.


He speaks of punishment for being such a naughty little girl

And of the passionate rocking against the headboard of their bed

Later on that evening; his whiskers tickle her cheek and send a flame

Down her spine to settle ever more in her stomach.


“Was I a tease?” she asked with a coquettish look of feigned

Wide eyed innocence and he nods, his own eyes growing wide

As another song with a steady beat rises and she does too,

Off that bar stool and into the crowded dance floor.


His qualms about her leaving her are none, for he knows she’ll return

Once that song’s spell has been broken, and again he’ll whisper

Naughty words and subtle sneaks about how much trouble she’s in

And how much fun he’ll have bending her over


A smile stretches across his face he spies her; she is the envy of all,

A sexy creature with no parallel to him.  She is his and he is hers,

Both thoroughly underneath a spell woven by love and

A certain kind of dance.


Clean Sheets

Tugging the yards of fabric

Warm from the dryer, my feet carry

Me back to the room, quickly I tuck sheets in place.


He grumbles, sleepy, displeased that I have roused him

From the tempting mistress, Slumber

Coalescing, he flops on the fitted sheet, a smile on his face.


I stand at the top of the bed, Whipping the sheet

Until it is straight along the lines of the mattress

His grin grows as the warm sheet and comforter follow


Tucking him in, I feel a memory pull at my consciousness

Of my mother doing laundry, promises of clean sheets

Long after the sand man had visited


I recall her stepping into my room, and

Draping the warm sheets around me.  They felt

Like love and happiness and comfort


No wonder I love clean sheets


Walk a mile in my shoes

They say it’s not easy being green

But being blonde can be hard too

Probably not as difficult as being green it

(although Kermit seems to thoroughly enjoy it)


It’s difficult being a college student

Papers, projects, lesson plans

For us busy as worker bees education majors

(but hey, I voluntarily signed up for this)


Sometime’s it hard just being a girl

Dealing with all the problematic pieces that our

Culture presents to us, in order to be perfect

(personally, I think I’m a ten pounds of cute in a five pound bag)


Walk a mile in my boots, with music thrumming in your ears

Get from the apartment to campus without forgetting much

Sit through class, pass notes, get coffee

(you’d better put plenty of cream and sugar in it)


Walk a mile in my shoes, holding hands with him

Smiling, smirking, laughing, giggling

Feel that warm of peace and love

(especially post coitus and before he leaves for work)


Walk a mile in my shoes, holding the hands of child

Teach, but don’t force, allow them to figure things out

Share hugs and wisdom, but lots of hugs

(no seriously, plenty of hugs for the little kids!)


Walk a mile in my shoes

and find out what it’s like to

Be me

(cause i think it’s fantastic)